A/N: Co-written with the lovely Mrs. Milfoy! Many thanks to Drumchik for her help!
"This is revolting."
"Then why are you still drinking it?"
"Because I am."
Draco watched his mother swallow another sip of the whiskey, her face contorting as the liquid hit her throat. He was surprised she had opted for whiskey over her normal gin or wine. He had been drinking it lately, more of an attempt to feel like an adult, master of the house since his father had been in Azkaban the past few months awaiting trial.
Taking another sip, he stared at the floor in front of the fireplace. The flames flickered across the wooden floor and he could still see very faint remnants of the Gringott goblin's blood in between the boards. No matter how hard their elves scrubbed it would always be there - a stain the likes of Lady Macbeth's. He remembered coming down one morning shortly after his father had been taken away, to find his mother up to her elbows in soapy water, scrubbing the floor, tears streaking her cheeks. It would be a constant reminder of how hard they had fallen; their once prized manor used as a slaughter house, their once respected family on the bottom rung of the social ladder.
"What are you thinking?"
He looked at her. They sat on the bare floor, flames flickering on their faces and fleshing the boundaries of the stain surrounding them. The fire also did something alien and...alluring to his mother's eyes - made flecks there that were magnets for truth. "How d'you know I was thinking?"
She rested her head on her raised knees and set her snifter between them. "I'm your mother. I can tell."
He chuffed softly. "I was thinking what a depressing Yule this will be." He picked up her snifter and drained its contents. Leaned back on his hands and stretched his bare feet out before him. "Thinking father will probably get life in Azkaban - if not the kiss. Thinking what the fuck I'll do with this mess without him if either of those things happen."
"You'll have me," she murmured.
He looked at her quickly. "I know that, mum. Absolutely." He couldn't bear to see her more hurt than she already had been, dreaded seeing more tears on her pretty face. "But can I be here for you? Can I be strong and support you the way you -"
"Draco." Her hand fell on his arm. "Stop. You mustn't fret over these things we cannot control. Aren't we both strong? Haven't we proven that to each other? As strong as we've been apart, imagine what we can accomplish together."
He felt remarkably bolstered by her words and quirked a smile. "Don't get all smarmy on me. I wasn't trying to suggest we were walking dead."
She smiled back, but the gesture didn't reach her eyes. "We're both so lucky to be alive." Her eyes fluttered closed. "Every day, no matter how bleak it seems, I thank the goddess you're alive."
"Mum..." He straightened and bent toward her. "You always believed in me. Thank you." He couldn't resist pushing the stray shank of white hair from near her mouth. "I don't know what I would have done without you." She said nothing, and he looked again into the flames. "There was a moment at Hogwarts - during the final battle - when I wondered if I would see you again. Where I was afraid you'd never know how much I appreciate you." He blushed and rubbed at his ankle. "How much I love you."
She bit her lips. Refused to make this overly sentimental for him. "There was a moment when I wondered the same. And more."
"What do you mean?"
She shrugged. Sat up and pulled her thick mass of curls over one shoulder. "I mean there comes this moment when you think you may die that has you reflecting on all the choices you made. Things you could or should have done differently. Regrets. Mistakes. Missed opportunities. Like making a wish list too late."
He nodded. "Yeah! Like thinking, 'Gods, please don't let me die a virgin.'" She blinked at him and he back pedalled, the whiskey was clearly starting to steer the conversation. "Or...you know...wish I'd learned to ice skate or...something. Anyway." He cleared his throat. "What were you thinking then, mum? What was on your too-late-wish-list?"
Her brows arched in a way that said 'in for a sickle,' and sighed. "Oh. I suppose I wished I'd had more fun in life. Particularly when I was your age. I always felt like I grew up so fast. I wished I'd had more friends. Gone on dates. Danced with more boys. Kissed more..."
She stopped short. Draco leaned toward her encouragingly. His eyes were alight with something. "Kissed more?"
"Well." She fussed at her skirt, wrapped it more tightly around her legs. "You get the idea." She looked away into the darkened part of the room.
"Kissed more boys?" He didn't want to let go the topic.
"What was on your list?" She asked hastily, very much wanting to let go the topic.
A full-fledged grin broke across his face. "Was father the only man you ever kissed, mum?"
"Draco."
"Oh, come on." He gestured to the room. "No one here but us. And am I not your son? This discussion could be important to my future relationships."
"Or you're just being a nosy parker."
"Was he?"
"Yes!" She sniffed. "I was a proper pureblood lady. I saved all of my firsts for the wizard I was going to wed."
"All of your firsts?" She coloured and Draco shook his head. "Wow. How...boring."
"Draco!"
"Sorry! Sorry." But he was laughing. "I know, I know. Things were different then. And different for you." He rubbed her shoulder in apology. "I'm certain if I'd been a girl things would have been different for me, as well."
"How many for you then?" She demanded.
"What?"
"How many for you? Kisses? Girls?"
"Now who's being a nosy parker?" He found himself blushing. Her scrutiny was in turns appealing and embarrassing. It was strange.
"I told you." She poured another snifter of whisky and nudged it toward him. "It's your turn."
"You're plying me with libations, aren't you?" She nodded. "I admire your approach." He took a sip. "There were only a few."
"A few?" She cried. "How many?"
His forehead creased. The whiskey hadn't sotted him by any means, but it was making audible thoughts necessary. "Let's see. Pansy."
"I figured as much."
"Daphne."
"Mm-hm."
He started to wince. "There was...Blaise. Once."
"Right."
He stared at her. "Right?"
"Right," she replied, gesturing impatiently. "Go on."
Draco swallowed. "Well. Hannah Abbott."
"Who is Hannah Abbott?"
"Just this Hufflepuff girl."
"Oh, son!" She looked utterly dismayed.
"What?!"
"A Hufflepuff?"
"It was spin the butterbeer!" He defended hotly. "I suppose you never played that game, though."
She pouted. "Don't be mean." Sniffed. "Is that it?"
"Yes." He didn't meet her eyes. Tugged at a loose button on his oxford.
"Draco."
He still didn't meet her eyes. "What?"
"There was someone else, wasn't there?" she asked, turning her head in an attempt to find his eyes. "Who?"
"I...um." He cleared his throat.
"So keen on asking questions but you can't answer them?" Narcissa took another sip of whiskey. "Really, Draco, who are you so embarrassed about kissing? You've admitted to snogging a Hufflepuff. I doubt it could get much worse than that."
Draco let out an awkward laugh. "Yeah, yeah you'd...uh...probably think that." He paused for a moment. "Bella," he sighed.
"Bella who?" Narcissa asked, not recognising the name.
Draco said nothing.
Narcissa thought for a moment, her eyes widening as she slowly started to understand. "Not Bella...trix?"
He nodded, staring intently into his glass.
Images of her mad and disgusting sister attacking her boy flashed through her mind. Bella, cornering Draco, pressing herself against him, gnashing her cracked and dirty teeth against his mouth. She tipped back the remains of whiskey in her snifter. "Good goddess," she whispered.
Draco scowled. "It's not like I really wanted to, mum."
"Of course not." She fiddled with the seam of her skirt. "Just...you should possibly get checked by a healer. Or two."
"Wha?"
"Well. Bella did...suck off the Dark Lord frequently."
He stared at her with a face revolving around several different expressions. The first said, 'Did my mother just say suck off?' The second said, 'Did Aunt Bella really suck off the Dark Lord?' And the third said, 'I'm making an appointment tomorrow.' "Mother?"
"What?" Her lips were pursed beyond recognition.
"Are you serious?"
She shrugged. "I'm fairly certain."
"...Fairly certain your sister performed fellatio on Lord Voldemort."
She gave him an odd blank stare. "Don't condescend to me, Draco. I knew my sister. And...I know my way around...fellatio."
His face settled on an expression of slight pain. "I um... I won't ask for details, if that's all the same to you."
"Fine." Silence settled on them. "Any other kisses I should know about? Or...other transgressions?"
"Transgressions, eh?" Draco scoffed. "Hardly. Though the kisses could get rather..."
"Rather what?"
"Rather heated." He smiled nostalgically. She frowned, looked away. "Mother? I didn't mean to upset you."
"You didn't," she assured. Her head went back to her knees and she smirked at him. "I was just thinking how that was on my list."
"What was?"
"Rather heated kisses." Her eyes closed for a moment. When she opened them, her son was close and staring intently at her face. She straightened.
Draco's brow creased. "Surely father kissed you..." His expression sobered as he watched sadness fall over her face like a veil. "He didn't, did he? I mean...never really kissed you."
She shook her head, jaw clenching slightly. Embarrassed. She stared into the fire and spoke in a low monotone. "Doesn't matter now, though. I'm far too old for such frivolity."
"I don't think so," he whispered. He was leaning toward her, unnoticed, so by the time she turned to speak to him...his whiskey-flavoured lips fell on hers. Before she could react he slid his hand behind her head and ran his fingers through her curly locks and ran his tongue against her lips. Instinctively she kissed him back until he pulled away from her.
Her eyes were heavy and her face slack as though hypnotised. "We probably shouldn't be drinking," she murmured.
"Or we should be drinking more," Draco answered. His forehead pressed to hers. "Wasn't so bad, really."
"I'm your mum."
"You've nice lips."
"Draco!"
She may have intended to reprimand him further, but the words were muffled by his mouth descending on hers again. She heard the snifter between them scrape across the floor as Draco shifted, and suddenly he was guiding her backward - laying her onto the bare floor. And strangely, she was doing nothing to stop him.
Because - quite simply - it did feel good. In fact, when he licked the inside of her bottom lip, she realised it felt fucking incredible. And if he could use his tongue, then she could too. So she tried it; just a tease at first, a testing of the waters, a hint of her curiosity. Just the tip...pressing just beyond her teeth...and the stubbly stroke of his own. Electric.
But there was little subtlety in the youth currently stretching his entire svelte length against her. When he felt the hesitant swipe of her tongue, he answered with a full-fledged assault and her eyes opened in surprise.
No, she'd never been kissed like this. His tongue in her mouth was all too reminiscent of a cock in her cunt and she squeezed her thighs together at the remembered sensation. It had been so long... The taste of whiskey was strong, and there was another taste that she supposed was simply her son. His essence. A flavour she couldn't have imagined.
She moaned into his mouth when a hand stroked firmly down her side to cup her hip, grope her bum. It was an odd sound reverberating in his throat. Narcissa let her own hands begin to drift. The sinewy body sidewinding against hers was salacious and magnetic. It was suddenly very difficult to imagine this was her son and not one of the Slytherin seekers she'd mooned over during her Hogwarts days.
When her nails stroked his scalp, he pulled back on a gasp. "Oh hell."
Narcissa resisted following his lips, but only barely. Her own felt numb and slightly tingly. They were heaving for breath, Draco's hot mouth laying fire across her collarbone. "Al - alright?" She asked tremulously.
"Mmmmm." Another hand slid down her thigh, cradled her knee and shifted it. "Quite." He looked at her.
She couldn't ignore the fact he was between her thighs. Couldn't ignore the thick expansion of his black and shining pupils. The bitten bulge of his bottom lip... He was beautiful. Irresistible. She wanted more. "Draco..."
His thumbs stroked her temples. "Narcissa," he whispered as if trying her name on for size. Smiled after it left his mouth. It had never sounded sexier.
"Oh, Merlin help me." She pulled his lips roughly back to hers. Their teeth gnashed for a second before they settled back into the rhythm they'd found earlier. Although this time around, she started to understand what he'd meant by 'heated.'
She cursed herself for choosing this day of all days to go without corsetry. Her nipples, hard and sensitised by their galvanising activity, scuffed almost painfully against the fabric of her frock. And on one particularly energetic thrust, Draco obviously noticed. His hand left her arse to explore the new territory of her cleavage, squeezing and pressing through her dress. She gasped with each caress and found herself arching into the onslaught.
But if she was embarrassed to think that she was the only one affected by their activities, she was quickly reassured. For there was no question - no doubt - that a very eager erection was attempting unsuccessfully to avoid her pelvis. She couldn't help feeling a surge of pride only mildly tempered by surprise that she could still provoke such a reaction. A satisfied smirk invaded their kiss and Draco pulled away again.
Noting her grin, he gulped. "Are you certain you've never done this before?"
She sucked hard on his bottom lip, released it with a pop, then nipped it. "Quite certain."
He returned the favour to her bottom lip and she nearly squealed with the pleasure of it. Experimentally, she raised her hips, pressed her hot core to his groin. Draco hissed. "Don't," he murmured.
She tightened her knees alongside his hips and pulled him flush between her thighs. "Why?"
They spoke in hushed tones, nearly competing with the grandfather clock's midnight chime. "Because..." Draco nuzzled her nose with his own. "I think I want things right now that are...probably very wrong."
Again, her nails scraped at his scalp, fingers tangled in his hair. "More wrong than French kissing your mother?"
He stretched catlike at her scratching caress. "Definitely more wrong than that..."
"Well." She pulled his lips again to hers, whispered against them. "Eleven more days until Yule... Let's just see what each one brings."